


All I want for Christmas is you

by littlemisscurious



Series: Tom, Emmy, Ben, Ellie, Paula, Max and Sophie [21]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Baking, Family, Fluff, Gen, daddy!Tom, river - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisscurious/pseuds/littlemisscurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on a prompt I received on tumblr...</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I want for Christmas is you

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [River](https://archiveofourown.org/works/812262) by [littlemisscurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisscurious/pseuds/littlemisscurious). 



 

“Have you washed your hands?,” I ask my children as they come running into the kitchen. I chuckle inwardly as I can see in their faces their internal battle about whether they should simply say yes or go back and wash their hands in the bathroom as I had told them earlier already. “Thought as much,” I wink. “Come on, off you go, wash your hands properly. We don’t want any germs in our biscuits, do we?,” I add with a smile and they run back to the bathroom.

“They never get tired of trying, huh,” Paula snickers as she gets their aprons out of the cupboard. “Did we when we were younger?” We both laugh and it doesn’t take long until Emmy and Ben join us in the kitchen again. “Alright, let’s start. Put your aprons on, guys, and then we have to decide on a recipe.” I breathe a kiss onto Emmy’s hair as I tie the apron at her back and she smiles up at me, her eyes twinkling with delight. “Thank you, Daddy. Can I do the baking with you?” I look over at Benjamin quickly, who is already standing on his little footstool next to Paula, before I nod with a loving smile. “Sure, darling.”

 

“Daddy, Paula and I, we want to make these ones,” Benedict exclaims with an excited smile, pointing at the page with the Cinnamon Balls. “That’s an excellent choice, love. What about you, Emmy? Which ones shall we make?,” I ask, standing behind her while she browses through the recipe book, examining the odd page here and there before she moves on. “Can we just make the cut-out biscuits? The one we made last year with the chocolate on top?,” my daughter mumbles, still going through the book. “Yes, of course we can. I think the recipe is at the beginning of the book, though, love.” With a thud, she closes the thick, heavy book once more before starting at the beginning again.

 

I glance at Paula and Ben for a moment, both already deeply engrossed in the recipe and the assembly of the ingredients, and my heart melts slightly at seeing my son smiling widely, being happy. “Found it! Daddy look, I found it!” A gentle tug on my hand makes me lower my gaze again and I am met with the proud face of my daughter. “See, I found it,” she points at the book again and I take a look. “You did, well done,” I smile, proudly and leaning over her, I read the ingredients while she goes and fetches what we need. Earlier Paula had prepared two separate bowls of each of the main ingredients, one pink and one blue so Emmy and Ben could have one each. Funnily enough, both my children didn’t stick to one colour so Ben now had a mixture of pink and blue bowls in front of him while Emmy picked up the remaining blue and pink bowls, not really caring about the colour at all.

“Why don’t I pour it in and you tell me when we’ve reached the number we need?,” I suggest and Emmy nods, excitedly. “Okay, so we need 150g flour. Got that?” Emiliana nods again, eagerly, her grey, sparkly eyes fixed on the numbers on the scale while I pour the white powder into the bowl. “Almost there, Daddy….Almost….Aaaand… STOP.” I chuckle quietly as she holds her hand up like a police man, right into my face. Together, we add the remaining ingredients ere we mix it all together in our KitchenAid. “Can you pick me up? I want to see it getting mixed together,” she asks, stretching her arms out at me and of course I comply. She cuddles up to me as she rests on my hip, her dark brown curls tickling my chin, her small hands buried in my shirt.

 

“How are you getting along, Ben?,” I smile at him while Emmy watches our dough being mixed. “We can put them in the oven soon,” my son smiles, proudly, and holds up one of the little dough balls covered in cinnamon and sugar. “Wow, well done,” I nod approvingly before he turns back to his biscuits.

“Why don’t we have any Christmas music?” I turn my head to Emiliana who is busy playing with my longer, curly hair. “I don’t know. Shall we go and pick something?,” I suggest, turning off the KitchenAid. She nods eagerly and I put her down again. Placing the bowl with the dough in the fridge, I follow her into the living room where she is patiently waiting for me to get my ipod from the docking station, knowing full well that she isn’t allowed to take it without my permission.

“Let’s see,” I mumble, taking the ipod and sitting down on the floor while Emiliana crawls onto my lap. “Can we play my favourite?,” she begs while I scroll through my music. “You mean All I Want For Christmas Is You?” Nodding vigorously, she watches as I try to find the track. “But the one with the man singing,” she adds and I finally click on the Christmas-Album by Michael Bublé. “Yay, let’s go and listen to it,” Emmy laughs and jumps up, pulling my hand to make me get up as well. “Hey, easy tiger. I’m old,” I wink and stand up, picking her up at the same time. She squeals loudly and I laugh, loving nothing more than the sound of my children’s laughter. Throwing her over my shoulder, I carry her through to the kitchen, where Ben is watching Paula from a safe distance as she is putting the biscuits in the oven.

 

I place my ipod on the docking station and turn on the song before I take Emmy properly into my arms, her short legs half-way around my waist while she holds onto my neck with her small hands. “May I have this dance?,” I wink and she grins widely. “Yes!” I close my eyes with a smile as she buries her face in the crook of my neck and quietly sings along to the music, getting the lyrics only kind of right. The smell of cinnamon is lingering in the air and as the snow falls heavily onto the skylights in the kitchen ceiling there could be nothing better than listening to Christmas music with my daughter in my arms while Ben dances around with Paula, his laughter echoing through the room.


End file.
